Hold on to Me (7 page)

“Hell if I know,” Tate mumbled. “Maybe because I know what it’s like to get your teeth kicked in by the woman of your dreams.”

Mitch’s eyes drifted open, and he looked across the cab toward his friend, pretty sure he’d imagined that response. Dim green light from the dashboard illuminated Tate’s set features and the mop of dark brown hair that was already brushing his shoulders. The guy dated a lot of women, but Mitch couldn’t remember a single one who had lasted more than a month.

Not that he cared right now. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes again, focusing on deep breaths, in and out, so he didn’t get sick. Some sappy country music floated out of the speakers, and Tate hummed along as he drove.

Mitch floated, hating the music, hating the way his stomach tossed, hating life in general. “Country music is so freakin’ depressing.”

Tate grinned. “That’s because it’s deep.”

“Thank God you don’t play it.”

“Are you saying my music lacks substance?”

“Any substance in your music’s hidden behind heavy bass and that tricky guitar shit you do.”

“I totally take offense at that.”

Mitch crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s because you listen to crap like this that makes a person want to blow their brains out.”

“You are a total peach tonight, you know that, Michelle?”

It was a familiar joke, one they’d started in college and that had lingered over the years, calling each other by their girlie counter-names. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Mitch’s lips. “As peachy as you, Tara.”

They made several turns on the island, and the music shifted to a song about football. Still country, but at least it wasn’t a depressing monologue about a man’s regrets. As the song echoed in the cab, Mitch mentally tried to figure out where they were without opening his eyes but finally gave up as his mind drifted away from his rolling stomach and floating head and resettled on the scene at his house last night with Simone.

Holy hell. He was such a fucking moron. He totally should have seen that coming. Couldn’t believe how far he’d bought into that whole stupid fairy tale.

“Damn, Mathews.” The rig drew to a stop, and Tate’s voice cut through Mitch’s self-defeating thoughts. “When you said this Simone chick was younger than you, I thought she was at least
legal
. Even I don’t push those boundaries.”

Mitch’s eyes drifted open, and he looked over at his friend. Tate’s gaze was locked on something out the front windshield.

Blinking several times, Mitch turned his head, then froze.

Every muscle in his body contracted, and he sat forward. “Holy shit.”

He was out of the truck in seconds, his hiking boots hitting the asphalt drive while the cool air and adrenaline rush cleared his foggy head, enough so he didn’t fall over. “Shannon? What the hell are you doing here?”

Illuminated by the headlights of the truck, Shannon swiped at her runny nose with the sleeve of her hoodie as she sat on the front steps of Tate’s new house. Tears tracked down her cheeks, and she rubbed at them with her sleeve. “I… I…”

Confusion snapped to worry, which morphed to a burst of excitement rushing through Mitch’s veins. His gaze swept from Shannon to the fancy new house, then around the parking area surrounded by trees. Simone had to be here.

“D-don’t be mad. Please?” Shannon sniffled, drawing his attention. “I just… You didn’t say good-bye. And I…” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Mom doesn’t know I’m here. I-I…” Wide, wet, red-rimmed eyes looked up at him. Pleading eyes. “Just…just please come back. I promise I’ll be good. I won’t get in the way.”

A car door slammed behind Mitch. Footsteps echoed. But he knew it wasn’t Simone. It was Tate, wondering what was going on.

All that excitement fizzled. Simone wasn’t here. She hadn’t changed her mind. She hadn’t come after him. But instead of the heartbroken anger he’d felt earlier, guilt consumed him. Guilt for not thinking about anyone but himself.

“Shit.” He sat next to her on the steps and wrapped an arm around her. When she threw herself against his chest and started sobbing, he just held her close, not knowing what the hell to do or say.

Tate’s footsteps drew to a stop. “How come every girl you’re with ends up crying, Mathews?”

Mitch glanced up at his friend, frowned, and flipped him the bird.

Tate chuckled.

Shannon’s sobs died down. She sniffled, then drew back and looked at Tate. Glancing at Mitch, she said, “Is that…the music guy?”

“You know Kendrick?” Mitch asked, one arm still around her.

“Yes. I mean, kinda.” She sniffled again. “Julia told me about him.”

“Julia,” Mitch mumbled. “That explains how you found me. But I’d still like to know how the hell you got all the way up here on your own.”

Shannon sat up and swiped at her cheeks. A sheepish expression crossed her features. “Julia helped me.”

“I figured. Keep going.”

She cringed. “She, ah, used her dad’s credit card to get me a plane ticket.”

“You’re ten.”

She bit her lip and looked down at her shoes. “I know. She, ah, also told me how to act like I was older so I could travel without an adult.”

Tate chuckled. “Damn, but I love that kid.”

Mitch frowned. “That kid’s going to be grounded for life when her parents find out what she did.” He looked down at Shannon. “And so are you, sweetheart, when your mom realizes you’re gone.”

Tears filled Shannon’s eyes all over again. “Please? Please, can we not tell her right away? If you come back, she won’t be so mad at me.”

She collapsed into sobs against Mitch’s chest again, and he rubbed her back, knowing he should be pissed but having a hard time finding the energy.

“Bring her into the house,” Tate said. “If she gets sick out here in the cold, her mom’s really gonna hate you.”

“Her mom already does.” Mitch hefted Shannon into his arms and followed Tate inside.

A great room with a huge rock fireplace and dark wood accents opened to a kitchen beyond and stairs that led up to the second floor. Mitch sat on the leather couch in the middle of the room and held Shannon while she cried. Tate disappeared somewhere in the kitchen.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he said, rubbing her back, not knowing what else to do to console her. Julia was never emotional like this. Instead, she just got mad and yelled. Part of him preferred the yelling, but a tiny piece liked that Shannon needed him. God knew, her mother didn’t. “I’ll call your mom and work everything out. She might be a little mad, but she’ll get over it.”

“No, she won’t.” Shannon sniffled. “I’ve messed everything up. First I made you leave, and now this.”

He drew her away from him and looked into her eyes. “Listen to me. You didn’t do anything wrong. And I didn’t leave because of you. I left because…” How the hell did he explain this to a ten-year-old? He was still struggling with it himself. “Listen, Shannon. Sometimes things just don’t work out. It’s not anybody’s fault, especially yours. You’re a great kid, and I…” …
wanted to be your dad. I still do
. He swallowed the emotions closing his throat. “It was wrong of me to leave without telling you. I’m sorry.”

She laid her head on his chest and cried again. And, feeling like shit, Mitch just sat there and held her, knowing there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to make her—or himself—feel better.

Eventually, Shannon’s sniffling died off, and she grew limp in his arms. It had to be close to three a.m. Realizing she was asleep, he laid her on the couch and pulled a throw over her, then looked down at all her curly red hair fanned out around her and remembered why he’d never wanted to have a family of his own. Because this kind of stuff killed him. The highs he could totally manage, but the lows… He wasn’t strong enough to deal with reality when the bottom fell out beneath him.

The scent of coffee beckoned from the direction of the kitchen, and he headed that way.

Tate—always a night owl—was sitting at the counter, tinkering on his laptop, when Mitch walked into the room. Darkness pressed in from outside, just a twinkle of lights across the water reflecting in the glass. Tate leaned back in his chair. “She finally go to sleep?”

Mitch opened a cupboard and pulled out a mug. “You mean pass out from crying? Yeah. Finally.”

Tate chuckled. “Gotta admit. All those years you spent helping Ryan with Julia, I never saw you as the father figure. Not until tonight.”

Mitch scowled as he poured coffee into his mug. “Don’t get used to it. She’s not my kid, and her mother has made it more than clear she doesn’t want her to
be
my kid. I am not, and never will be, dad material.”

Tate was silent for a moment. The strong, bitter coffee went down hot, but at least it cleared the last of the cobwebs from Mitch’s brain. He took another sip, wishing it would clear away that lingering ache in his chest too.

“What are you gonna do?” Tate asked quietly.

What he wanted to do was drink himself into oblivion and pass out just like Shannon. What he
had
to do was call the woman who’d just shit kicked him in the groin and tell her her daughter was over eight hundred miles away. With him.

“Consider moving to a deserted island.” He pulled out his cell and cringed when he saw seven missed calls from Simone.

So much for passing out.

He punched in Simone’s number. Then drew a deep breath and steeled himself for what was about to happen next.

Simone answered on the first ring. “Mitch? Is Shannon with you?”

Just the sound of her voice caused his stomach to tighten with a mixture of pain and stupidity. He clenched his jaw. “She’s here. And she’s fine.”

“Oh, thank God. I’ve been going out of my mind. Put her on the phone.”

“She’s sleeping.”

“Well, wake her up. She’s in some serious trouble for this stunt.”

He leaned back against the counter. Across the kitchen, Tate watched with interest. “No.”

“This isn’t funny, Mitch. Put her on the damn phone.”

Simone was good and fired up. The woman rarely swore. But that only fueled Mitch’s own rage. “It’s three o’clock in the freakin’ morning, Simone. She’s tired and upset and already feels like crap, thanks to you. So forgive me for not waking her so you can lay into her and make her feel worse.”

“
Wha
—?” Shock reverberated through the line. Then, steadier, Simone said, “Where are you? I’ll come get her.”

Bullshit. She wasn’t coming up here and fucking up any more of his life. She’d done enough of that already. “I’ll take care of it.”

“What? No. Just put her on a plane in the morning, and I’ll meet her in San Francisco.”

She didn’t want to see him. Yeah, that made this all the more fun. “And leave her feeling abandoned all over again? I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure we’ve both fucked things up for her enough for one week. I’ll call you tomorrow when I know our flight time.”

“Wait, Mitch. Have
her
call me.”

Now she didn’t even want to talk to him? Oh yeah, this was just so fucking
excellent
.

“Not if she doesn’t want to. And right now, you’re like the last person on the planet she wants to talk to.”

“Mitch—”

“You know what, Simone?” He rolled right over her, his own emotions melding with Shannon’s, leaving him vibrating with anger. “You’re just gonna have to learn to deal with disappointment. I sure have.”

He clicked End before she could protest and slid the phone into the back pocket of his jeans. A tension headache—or maybe it was a hangover headache—was taking up space right behind his eyeballs. He rubbed two fingers over his brow.

“That sounded like it went well,” Tate said from the table.

“About as well as a car crash on the 101.” Mitch tossed his coffee in the sink and headed for the living room. “I’m tired. If Shannon wakes, make sure she doesn’t escape, would ya? The last thing I need is her mother all over my ass because she got away.”

“At one time, you would have liked that.”

Yeah, he would have. And part of him still did. But as he’d told Simone, disappointment was something he was learning to live with.

“That’s because I’m a sick son of a bitch.” Mitch turned for the stairs. “But like you, Kendrick, thank the stars above, I’ve finally come to my senses.”

“Yeah,” Kendrick muttered from the kitchen in a less than enthusiastic tone, “we’re regular old rocket scientists, aren’t we?”

S
imone stared at the phone in her hand in utter disbelief.

He’d hung up on her.

“She’s with Mitch?” Kate asked where she sat next to Simone on the sofa. “Oh, thank God. What did he say?”

“He—” Simone was still too shocked to think. She knew Mitch was pissed at her after the scene at his house, but this was different. He’d all but accused her of being a terrible mother. Which, she couldn’t help but agree, she was. She swallowed hard. “H-he said he’s bringing her back to San Francisco tomorrow.”

Kate and Ryan exchanged glances. She saw it from the corner of her eye. But she was too upset to care what they were thinking.

“Don’t worry, Simone,” Ryan said. “Mitch has been taking care of Julia for years. He’s very responsible. I’m sure everything’s just fine.”